Rachel Caine - Terminated

He shuddered and avoided her stare, preferring to talk to Joe’s surgical fix, apparently. “I was out of work. Fountain Group recruited me for a new program.”

“And exactly what were you doing?”

“Research!”

“Don’t be a dick, Doc,” Joe said. “You know what she’s asking you.”

“I’m not answering any more of your questions,” Ziegler said, and tied off his stitches—which, from Bryn’s seat up front, looked surprisingly expert. “Just let me out.”

“No,” Riley said, and the word was as rough as gravel in a blender. She didn’t look in a forgiving mood, and as blood-drenched as she was, she looked more dead than alive. “You’re telling us everything you know. One way or another. So just say it now, and save yourself the pain.”

Bryn was almost sure that was an empty threat, but it didn’t sound that way, and Ziegler seemed to take it very seriously. Riley took the rest of the suture kit away from him, and he folded his hands in his lap and looked scared and miserable.

Too bad. Bryn couldn’t summon up much sympathy.

“My name isn’t Ziegler,” he said softly. “It’s Calvin Thorpe. I was in charge of the Revival team at Pharmadene Pharmaceuticals before I—before things went wrong and I left.”

“Left,” Bryn said. “You mean ran. They didn’t let anyone leave alive if they could help it.”

He nodded, eyes still fixed on his gloved hands. “Someone helped me out. A friend inside the company. He—helped me fake my death. I changed my name and tried to find work, but Fountain Group found me first. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I didn’t want to have anything to do with the filthy process of bringing back those abominations.” He hesitated, and then said in an unconvinced voice, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Bryn said in the same tone. “You’re a specialist in reviving the dead during the administration of the nanite drug—do I have that right?”

“I administer the drugs, measure the results, do the follow-ups. I was the first to raise the issue of . . . maladjustments.”

“What kind of maladjustments?”

“Like that psychopath Jane,” he said. “I nearly succeeded in killing her. If they’d let me finish my work, I would have done it.”

Bryn braked and steered the truck to the curb, because her heart had started racing, and she was no longer sure she had the attention span for driving while talking. “Killed her,” she repeated. “You mean, before she took on the upgrades?”

He gave her a frowning glance, then looked away as if she was something too horrible to behold full-on. “I mean that I tried to kill her last month ,” he said. “Upgrades and all. And I could have done it if they hadn’t spotted me. I had to go under again. I was hoping to try again soon.”

There was a heavy moment of silence, and then Joe said, “Doc, exactly how do you plan on killing Jane? Because I thought that was a pretty tall order.”

“It is,” he said, and for the first time, Bryn saw the arrogance of one of the men who’d decided to play God with human lives. “But essentially, what runs her—all of them—is just a biomechanical program. It can be disrupted. And it can be killed. And I know how to do it.”

“Who else knows?”

“No one,” Thorpe said, and glared at Joe. “Which is why you’d better not threaten me again, if you plan to take that bitch down. I’m your only hope.”

“We need a safe house,” Riley croaked out. “Right now. We can’t take a chance keeping him out in the open like this. What the hell were you doing, out in public? Don’t you know how hard they’ll kill you?”

“Of course I know!” Thorpe shot back, and clenched his fists on his thighs. “But I can’t hide in a hole. While I’m alive, I’ll help the living. That’s all I can do to make up for—for what I’ve done, helping release this terrible plague.”

“It’s not a plague,” Bryn said. “It’s not contagious.”

He laughed hollowly, and when he met her eyes in the mirror, his were haunted and more than a touch insane. “No?” he asked softly. “You don’t think so? Because it’s just a matter of time. A few mods. And then we’re all just . . . lost. I helped make that happen. I deserve to die. But not yet. Not until I take Jane with me, and as many of them”—his glance included Bryn and Riley in that—“as I can.”

“Yeah, that’s real noble,” Joe said, “but you’re not going to do it from the inside of a plastic bag in a landfill, so let’s get you under cover.”

“I’m open to suggestions!” Bryn said. “Driving aimlessly probably isn’t the best solution.”

Joe took out his phone—Bryn realized he still had it on—and hung up the call, then dialed again. “Yo, lady,” he said. “How’s tricks? Yeah, still alive. We have Ziegler. Well, Dr. Calvin Thorpe, turns out, so look into that for me. But more to the point, we’d like to please not get hate-murdered out here by Jane, if she’s sniffing around after us, so . . . any suggestions?”

He listened, covered the phone’s speaker, and said, “She says glad you’re still alive, and also, they have another place here in KC. Hasn’t used it for years, but it should still be operational.” He gave her the address. “She says she can unlock it remotely for us. It isn’t as impressive as her digs, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

For all his cheerful, casual tone, Joe was deliberately not dropping any names—in case, Bryn assumed, that Calvin Thorpe turned out to be a liability, or sold information on. He was right. The last thing any of them wanted was to compromise Manny any further.

Though Manny would almost certainly burn this place to the ground and salt the earth after they sheltered there. As far as levels of trust went, Bryn figured they were well into negative numbers.

Traffic had thickened, hardening the city’s main arteries, but she used the GPS to find side streets; the last thing they needed was to be stuck in traffic, sitting ducks. And Manny’s bolt-hole was in—surprise—a decaying industrial area, which made things easier . . . at least until they came face-to-face with the massive iron gate.

Which was closed.

“And . . . ?” Bryn asked, but just as she did, a buzzer sounded, and the gate rumbled back on tracks. She drove in, and before her back wheels were through the gap, the gap began closing. “Is she watching us on satellite?”

“I think it’s safe to say she could nuke us from orbit,” Joe said. “Go straight into the underground parking. From there, she’ll open the elevator for us.”

The setup here was much the same as what Bryn had seen before, but smaller—the elevator was more claustrophobic, and when it opened up top, the lab was bare, dusty and pocked with—bullet holes? Something epic had gone on here, once. There were stains on the concrete that might have been blood.

But the important thing was that it was secure.

Bryn fired up the lights, and with them came a bank of security monitors, which was handy. “Dr. Thorpe, come with me,” she said. “Let’s find you a private room.” One with a locking door. She did find one, toward the back; it had the dimensions of a storeroom, but nothing in it but a cot, toilet, and sink. Perfect.

Dr. Thorpe sank down on the bed and stared at her with grim fury. “I’m your prisoner, then?”

“Let’s just say we don’t trust you with scalpels. Or anything sharp,” she said. “Get some rest. I’ll be back with something for you to eat.”

“I’d rather talk to the other one.”

“Riley? Not sure she’s up to talking, since you cut her—”

“The man,” he interrupted. “The human . I don’t want anything to do with you, or her.”